Today I cried. It was not a new cry. It was that same old cry except that it did not hurt any less. It hurts more each time. A new day with yesterday’s demons raging. How do I explain to my 11 year old son why his 59 year old self is begging for his life under a knee?  

“I can’t breathe”

How do I explain to my son why he is laying on the cold ground crying out for his momma with his last breath?

“I can’t breathe”

8 minutes and 46 seconds

“I can’t breathe”

This cry is suffocating. It runs deep. It is a familiar cry.

This painful history, this excruciating daily reality. This is what it means to be black in America.

“I can’t breathe” but I am ok. I’ll just show up again tomorrow. Swallow it. Chin up. Keep going.

“I can’t breathe” but I am ok.

Actually I am not. I’ve been trying to swallow it. Digest it. Consume it. Hold it in the depths of my gut so that I can show up. I can’t. It regurgitates. It’s choking me. It’s suffocating me.

I.  CAN’T. BREATHE!   

Today I cried and tomorrow it won’t hurt any less.